I'm Alive
by Darth Kieduss the Wise
Summary: A letter for Ziva changes her life.
1. I'm Alive

**Based on episode In The Zone (5x15).**

Ziva came to work a few minutes early. Even after six months, her heart still ached. She would wake up every day thinking about him.

Her eyes were glittering with unshed tears as she walked down the final few steps from the the elevator and into the squad room.

She noticed an envelope was on her desk. It was addressed to her in gel pen ink. Sitting in her chair, Ziva scoffed as the envelope didn't give a return address or even the name of the sender. Opening the envelope, she took out the letter. Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest. She struggled hold back different tears. She couldn't believe it.

The letter only contained four words but that was all she needed to see.

_Anthony DiNozzo:_

_I'm Alive._


	2. Mayday

SIX MONTHS EARLIER...  
300 YARDS PAST IRAQI COAST  
MAY 1, 2008  
3:00 A.M.

Tony and Nikki sat on the seats in the bulkheads of the C-130 as they were heading back to the USS _Benjamin Franklin._ The flight was bumpy as usual. They were used to it.

"That was a nice thing you did for Jameel and his sister," Tony said to Nikki.

"Hey, somebody's gotta do it," Nikki replied.

"I'll never understand why these kind of cultures are against women getting an education."

"It's a power issue."

"Yeah..." Tonys sighed.

"They're insecure so they oppress women to make themselves feel powerful."

IRAQI BEACH

Two Iraqis spotted the low flying C-130. One yelled at the other to get the launcher. The other Iraqi came out with a box with two other men. The box contained FIM-92 Stinger missile launchers. One of them lined up the sight onto the big aircraft as the other three prepared the others. The Stinger beeped with confirmation locked on.

"Insha'Allah," he said as pulled the trigger.

C-130

Tony took a sip of water. "Why are you so afraid of germs, Nikki?"

Nikki was shocked. That was her business.

"Come on, Nikki. It's just so...weird. The only time I ever got sick was when I opened a letter containing _y. pestis_. That's not you're common germ. There's gotta be some reason you're such a germaphobe."

"Tony, I'm just-"

Suddenly, a tremondous beeping roared in the cockpit.

"Pilot!" Tony yelled. "What's going on?"

"Missile lock!" the pilot answered. "_Benjamin Franklin_, this is Liberty 49F. Mayday, mayday, mayday. We are under missile attack. We need escort immediately at 89.3 North West."

_"Roger, 49F. F-15s are being scrambled."_

"Launching flares and executing evasive manuevers!" The copilot called. "Hold on!"

Tony and Nikki held on their restraints as the plane turned to port hard. A loud buzzing sounded as flares launched. G forces slammed them back into their seats as the C-130 turned to starboard. The size and weight of the plane made it slow to turn.

"Launching flares!" the pilot shouted.

The buzzing sounded again. The first two missiles were successfully deflected.

"Flares expended!" the pilot called out just before the beeping roared again. "Shit! More missiles! _Franklin_, where's that escort, damn it!"

_"About 2 minutes out."_

"They'll never get here in time," The co-pilot cursed. "You two might wanna strap in if you're not."

Just then, the entire plane shook as a FIM-92B missle struck home.

"Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!" the pilot screamed. "_Franklin_, we're hit! We're hit! We're going down."

Tony looked out a window to see one engine and part of the port wing aflame. The plane went up until it stalled. The plane did a split S then started spiraling toward the water.

"Mayday! MAYDAY!"

"Oh, my God," Tony whispered as he crossed. "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hollowed be Thy name. Gi-"

The plane lost all control. Wings tore off as the plane hit the water. The tail separated from the rest of the fuselage. The crashing did not end for two excruciatingly long minutes. Bits and pieces of plane sheared off and slipped beneath the surface. It spun and tossed through the waves, smashing apart as it went down and down. At long last, the remnants of cabin and cockpit settled in the water and stopped moving.

GROUND

The four Iraqis cheered as the plane went down.

"ALLAHU AKBAR! ALLAHU AKBAR!"

LATER...  
5:35 A.M.

Nikki woke up on a beach in Iraq. She gasped for breath as she tried to find out where she was. Her entire body ached. Some blood dripped from her forehead. It was still dark. The only light she could see was the few lanterns in the far distance and the oil fire from the plane wreckage. She noticed she was lone.

"Tony!" she cried. "Tony! Tony, where are you?!"

Suddenly, she heard voices in both Arabic and English. Nikki reached for her gun, before realizing she didn't have one. She saw flashlights searching the beach. As they came over, she breathed a sigh of relief. They were American Marines and the local US-friendly militia. She laughed in relief as she waved her arms.

"It's a friendly!" a Staff Sergeant screamed. "Hold your fire! Hold your fire!"

"You gotta help my friend!" she called. "He and two pilots are still in the plane."

"I'll call the Navy to send Search & Rescue."

WASHINGTON, D.C.  
NCIS  
8:31 A.M.

Vance came down the stairs, distraught at the latest news he received. The agents noticed him. They had been waiting for Tony and Nikki to tell them they had just arrived in Norfolk.

"McGee, put CNN on."

McGee grabbed the remote and did so. The television showed a news anchor, with a picture of an oil fire in the background.

_"...a few hours ago, a United States Marine Corps transport aircraft was shot down earlier this morning by Iraqi insurgents armed with missile launchers. Both pilots' bodies were recovered.."_

Ziva lost her breath, McGee's eyes widened and Gibbs stood silent. In his heart however, he feared the worst. The news anchor didn't talk about Jardine and DiNozzo probably from national security issues.

"Both pilots are dead," Vance laid it down. "Agent Jardine was rescued off the beach by Marines."

"And Tony?" McGee asked. Ziva's eye desperately trying to hold back a single tear that threatened to run down her face.

"He...hasn't been found...yet," Vance answered.

The tear finally ran down her face. _Oh my God...Tony..._

**Review.**


	3. Let It Out, Ziva

LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK  
MAY 16, 2008

No body was found but Tony was declared dead _in absentee._ Nikki recovered but spent a few days in a hospital for PTSD. She was guilt ridden and overcome with grief. Survivor's guilt is not an easy thing to overcome.

The entire NCIS agency of DC was at the funeral in Long Island. They all stood around side of the casket, knowing there was not a body inside it. The trumpet sounded as Tony's father placed a rose on his son's casket and a National Guardsman gave him a triangular-folded flag. Tony did a year in the National Guard before becoming a cop. Gibbs however, along with Abby, had his famous gut feeling in his stomach. Tony was not dead. Tony was too tough to die.

_Tony's not dead. He's just...not here,_ Abby had told him, just as she said when his car was blown up. Gibbs believed her then and he still did. Unless his body was found and positively identified, Tony was still alive. _Maybe he's being held captive._

Everyone placed a rose on the casket one by one, Ziva being the last. Ziva stood there for a moment, remembering every moment they had together.

HOME

Ziva came to her apartment at midnight. She tossed her bag, not caring where he landed. She slumped into bed. Then, in the first time in a very long while...she cried. She did not hold back as all her tears and cries of grief and loss. Tony was gone and he was never coming back.

Her mind went through every moment they spent together, at work and otherwise. She even remembered that undercover operation. The two FBI agents had suggested that she and Tony actually...did it. They didn't. But Ziva now wished they did. To make love with him. She loved him for a long time, but it took until now for her to realize it.

She'd never be able to kiss him, for real, not on the job. She'll never see him that corny yet charming smile. Never hear his jokes and movie references again. She cried till she could no more and fell asleep.

NEXT MORNING  
NCIS

The team had gathered at the squad room. A picture of Tony was on the screen. That famous smile flashed at them. Everyone had a shot of whiskey, bourbon or wine. Ziva stepped forward, stared at the picture, then turned to the team.

"To Anthony DiNozzo," Ziva struggled to say. "The best agent...and best friend I ever knew...or ever will know."

Everyone silently acknowledged that.

"To Tony," Ziva said and they all drank their shots.

IRAQ  
MAY 17, 2008

Tony struggled to sit up as he woke. His forehead was cut, blood occasionally getting into his eye. His entire body screamed in protest as he rose. The bastards had really messed him up. 15 days of beatings.

"Lord, forgive them for they do not know what they do," Tony whispered as he did his morning prayer. Tony, as a lot of Italians, had been raised Catholic, though recent events, including the bout with the plague, had brought him closer to God. Despite all the deaths caused by terrorists, Islamic or not, including the 9/11 attacks, the 1993 World Trade Center bombing and 1995 Oklahoma City bombing, he could not hate them. Really despise, but not hate.

He was in a cell that reminded him of that one when he was abducted by that nutcase Valerie, expect no mud on the floor, which Tony approved of.

Two Iraqis came in his cell. One of them held a Kalashnikov.

"You are tough, yes. But you will break, American," one said.

"Not likely man. I'm not trained to break or answer questions," Tony coughed. "All I gotta tell you is my name, rank and favorite cereal. And that's all your getting."

They answered him with a kick to the face. The Iraqi without the assault rifle grabbed Tony by the neck. Forcing the American to his knees, the Iraqi pulled a knife out and held it to Tony's face.

"I will make sure you stay awake long enough to feel _every single_ cut. Your death will be _beyond_ excruciating. You will _suffer_ as _we_ have suffered..."


	4. The Departing

**McGee's undercover op is based on **_**The Departed. **_**A good movie. Chapter Rated T for cursing.**

NOVEMBER 9, 2014  
IRAQ

Tony had given them some bullshit information to appear to be cooperating. Refusing to ask questions is one thing, but still being loyal to your country _while_ staying alive was another. Tony smiled at the fact that the terrorists hadn't come back and called him a liar about the information. He basically made up some names of America military leaders when in reality they didn't exist. The head of a regiment in Baghdad wasn't named Mickey Featherstone. Featherstone was an Irish mobster in Manhattan, New York. But the terrorists believed the lies and spared him. Now Tony had to figure out how to cut the plastic ties on his hands, which held them behind his back and figure out how to get the hell outta there and back home. Tony himself was amazed he survived six months of captivity and torture.

"Okay, Anthony," Tony whispered to himself. "Think. You've been through this once, you can get through it again."

Tony stood up on his feet and looked around. It was the same size as that in 2004. Concrete floor and walls. No windows except for a skylight in the ceiling. That meant he wasn't underground like in 2004. The door had a single rectangular-like opening for the captor to look in. Some pipes ran on the wall.

Tony noticed one of the pipes had a jagged screw on it. Sitting down, his back facing the wall, he slowly worked to cut the plastic ties. It'd take longer than it would to cut rope restraints, but it was better than nothing. What he worried about was if his captors would look in and see what he was doing. Hopefully, if they looked in, he would stand up fast enough to where the terrorists were none the wiser.

After half an hour, the restraints finally broke free. Tony rubbed his wrists, feeling confident in freeing himself. But suddenly, he could hear footsteps coming towards his cell. He put his hands behind his back again and arranged the restraints to where it looked like they were not compromised.

Two Iraqis, one with a Kalashnikov and the other with a Makarov pistol, came in.

"You, American," the one with the pistol called. "Come with us."

"What's going on?" Tony asked.

"Just come with us and shut up!"

Tony cooperated, walking in front of them, feeling the Kalashnikov pressing into his back. They walked outside the 'dungen'. Tony was put into a black SUV with a bag over his head. The terrorists drove off.

"May I ask now where we are going?" Tony asked after five minutes.

The terrorist riding shotgun yanked the bag from Tony's head. "We are releasing you. Prisoner exchange. We are exchanging you for a brother in jihad."

"Who?"

The terrorist cocked his Makarov, pressing it to Tony's forehead. "You are being exchanged for a brother. That's all you need to know. Now shut up. No more questions. Understand?"

Tony nodded. The terrorists uncocked his pistol and sat back in his seat. Tony took a deep breath as he decided to rest his eyes while also strategizing out to get out of this cluster f-. He remembered when his grandmother would yell at him while he played baseball.

_"Hey! Open your fucking eyes! Get it! Get it! Stupid idiot, he don't know how to catch. _Figlio di una cagna, _if you don't how to catch, you should've told us $100 ago! Damn it."_

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Back in Washington, McGee was on a deep undercover mission. He was Sean Devlin for so long he could hardly remember the last time he went into the NCIS building. As part of his cover, he couldn't be seen going in. Ziva and Gibbs, posing as weekly guests, would come to his house for updates.

The Westies, an Irish American mob organization from Manhattan, had come under new management. Frank Costello, an American mobster born to Irish immigrants, had taken over after having the last boss killed. Costello had decided to expand the Westies territory to Washington, D.C. After having three Marines killed, NCIS had to take him down. McGee, a second-generation Irish American, was perfect for the op. Now, as Sean Devlin, he basically became Costello's right hand man.

At an Irish restaurant, Costello called McGee over to his table. McGee took a seat in front of him. Costello was drinking his family's wine, which they'd been making for centuries. Frank sniffed the glass.

"I smell a rat, Seanie boy," Frank said before taking a sip. "Jesus. You got a girlfriend, Sean?"

"No. No, no, why - why? What does that matter?"

"It depends. I'm sure, by now, you know...I got an informer in my outfit. Cop...staties, Metro Police Department, I'm not, uh, sure."

"Y-you, you're sure it's not the FBI?" McGee asked.

"Yeah. It ain't the FBI," Frank said, shaking his head. He pointed a finger at him. "Ex-wife. Old girlfriend? They're stupid. That is what brings you down in this business."

"Stupid, huh?" McGee said humorously. "Well, I guess that leaves me out."

Frank laughed, patting him on the arm. "You know, past days, situation like this, I'd...kill everybody. Everybody that works for me."

"Right. Better safe then sorry, I suppose. You know, Frank, I, uh...I look around at your other guys. I mean, they're all murderers, right? Right? And I think, could _I_ do murder? And all I can answer myself is...what's the difference?"

McGee could see that Frank was intrigued by this.

"Give 'em up to Almighty," Frank said with a smile. "Just like that."

"Yeah, that's my point, you know. You accuse me once, I put up with it. You accuse me twice...I quit. If you pressure me to fear for my life, I put a fucking bullet in your head as if you were anybody else, okay?"

Frank looked at McGee. This was new, but he was impassive. And impressed. He intentionally dropped his gun, then picked it up. He examined it in front of McGee, even looking into the barrel. Then he pointed it at McGee.

"You got something you want to...ask me?"

"Look, you're seventy fucking years old," McGee said, as if there was no gun in his face. "I'm just saying, okay? One of your guys is gonna pop you. One of your guys is gonna pop you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"As for running drugs, what the fuck are you doing?" McGee said, leaning in. "What are you doing? You don't need the money or the pain in the ass. And they _will _catch you!"

Frank smiled. "I haven't need the money since I took Declan's milk money in the third grade. Tell you the truth, I don't need pussy any more either, but I still like it. Point I'm making here is, Sean, I got this rat. This...gnawing, cheese-eating fucking rat...And it brings up questions. You know, say, Sean, like you're the new guy...Girlfriend...Why didn't you stay in the bar that night I got y'alls numbers? Social security numbers. Everybody's fucking numbers."

"Is - is there something you wanna go ahead and ask me? 'Cause I'll go ahead give you the fucking answer, all right? Frank, look at me. Look at me. I'm not the fucking rat, okay? I'm not the fucking rat!"

"Start with, you agree there _is_ a rat."

"You said there is one all right?" McGee said in frustration. "I base most of what I do on the idea that you're pretty fucking good at what you do!"

"Sure, sure, all that aside...but you, Sean, what would you do?"

McGee pursed his lips as he thought. He leaned forward. "Frank, how many of these guys have been with you long enough to be disgruntled? Think about it. Who needs more money than you pay them? You odn't pay much, you know. It's almost a feudal fuckin' enterprise."

Frank nodded, accepting this.

"The question is, Frank - and the only question - who thinks they can do what you do...better than you?"

"The only one that can do what I do is me. A lot of people had to die for me to be me. You want to be me?"

"I probably _could _be you," McGee answered. "Yeah. Yeah, I know that much. But I don't wanna be you, Frank. I don't wanna be you."

Frank held his hand up. "_Heavy lies the crown..._sort of thing."

"Yeah."

Frank for some reason slammed his fist on the table. "You know what I like about restaurants?"

"The fucking food? I don't know."

"You learn a lot watching things eat," Frank said, rubbing his fingers together. "All right, I'm outta here. Talk to you later, Sean. But for God's sake, eat something. You looked like you haven't had any fucking food in days."

**Review.**


	5. Homeward Bound

NOVEMBER 9, 2008

Tony woke up after the terrorist poked his ribs with the Marakov.

"American, wake up!" he yelled.

Tony yawned as he woke up. "What's going on?"

"We're here for the exchange. Get out."

When Tony got out of the SUV, he noticed there were more terrorists with Kalashnikovs, one had a TEC-DC9 and another had an M4A1 assault rifle. The M4AI's barrel overheated sometimes, but other than that, a fine weapon. The TEC-DC9 tended to jam a lot, but when it functioned at fully automatic, it was a weapon to be admired.

"Because you've cooperated with us," the terrorist said as he led Tony to the exchange site. "I'll tell you who we're exchanging you for."

"Appreciate it."

"We getting our brother, Ahmed Abdullah Yousef. He's our master strategist."

Tony nodded. "Brother in arms."

"Exactly."

"Do they know who I am?"

"No. All they need to know is you and the other agent are just Federal agents."

"Other agent?"

The terrorist whistled and another American was brought in. He looked the same age as Tony. He had blue eyes, white skin, an Irish Cetlic Cross on his shoulder. He had long hair down to his shoulders. He looked like Anakin Skywalker from _Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith_.

"Hey," the man said as he came to Tony's side, with a TEC-DC9 pressed against his back. "Name's Cole Herrington, AFOSI."

"Tony DiNozzo, NCIS. Let's get this over this," Tony declared.

"Yes," the terrorist agreed.

US Army soldiers, Marines and a couple Air Force soldiers were there, some in Humvees. All the Humvees had M2 .50 caliber machine guns trained on the terrorists. Two Marines flanked an Iraqi in the typical clothing of a Muslim, including the cloth on his head.

Pushing their weapons into the Americans' backs, the two agents walked forward. The Marines did the same to Yousef. When the Americans and the Iraqi met in the middle of the area, they glared at each other. When Yousef had his back to Tony, Cole removed his restraints and grabbed the terrorist in the sleeper hold, his hands ready to snap the extremists neck. The terrorist aimed their guns at Cole, Tony and the soldiers, and the US soldiers aimed their weapons at the Iraqis.

"Let him go!" one of them said. "Let him go you American infidel! We had a deal!"

"You really thought we'd let a terrorist go free?" Tony retorted. "We do not _completely_ negotiate with terrorists."

"Filth, you will pay for this insolence!"

"Insolence!" Cole laughed. "We are Americans! We don't even know what that means. But you shoot or make a single fucking move, and your friend's head will be facing the other way...and dead."

Tony and Cole, along with Yousef, slowly backed up towards the US soldiers. When they finally got into friendly Humvees, the terrorists had no choice but to leave, or risk Yousef being killed. Yousef was secured and taken way. Cole and Tony got into another Humvee.

An Army Staff Sergeant joined them a Marine drove the Humvee back to HQ. He pointed at Tony. "What's your name and rank?"

"Anthony DiNozzo. Special Agent. Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

"Wait a minute," the sergeant said. "Anthony DiNozzo? That NCIS agent that was shot down?"

"Yep," Tony said, nodding. "I survived and was held prisoner. Don't tell NCIS. I wanna tell them myself."

"Okay," the soldier said. "I can do that. We know about you, Mr. Herrington. I'll call your boss."

"Thank you."

BAGHDAD INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT  
NOVEMBER 15, 2008  
8 A.M.

After being treated at a Marine hospital and debriefed, Tony was deemed fit to return to service. Tony wrote a letter back to Ziva while he was being treated at the hospital. He only put four letters in it. Four was enough. He was alive, not an overly-emotional woman. He could imagine Ziva overcome with tears of joy as she realized her partner was alive.

_"American Airlines Flight 239, now boarding."_

Tony picked up his suitcase and boarded the plane in first class. He ordered champagne.

MID-ATLANTIC OCEAN  
ONE HOUR LATER

Tony was asleep on the plane on his way to Washington, D.C. He could remember it all. Every single cut. Every last strike to the head. Every back hand slaps. Even the kicks to the nads. The screaming. The yelling. The cursing. The water boarding. And others things...

_One terrorist, Ahmed, threw Tony across the room, hitting the wall. As Tony tried to get up, to catch his breath, Ahmed came to him and grabbed by the back of his collar. He dragged Tony until he threw him towards Mohamed. Mohamed grabbed Tony's shoulders and made him face Achmed._

_"Still as _weak _as ever!" Achmed cursed as he backhanded Tony. Mohamed pushed him into a wall then threw him across the room._

_"And they call you _Special Agent_," Achmed said._

_"You know," Tony gasped. "When the Marines rescue me, I'm going to cut you in half."_

_Stomping with rage, Mohamed ran over, grabbed Tony by the legs and tossed him towards Achmed, landing at the terrorist's feet. Achmed gestured toward the door. Mohamed nodded, knicking Tony in the ribs one last time before leaving._

_After a few minutes, they strapped him to a board. Tony breathed deep to calm himself, despite knowing what was coming. Mohamed ripped off his shirt._

_"This is your last chance, American..." Achmed growled. "Talk and you shall be spared."_

_Tony didn't justify it with a response. Suddenly, it hit his back. He struggled to contain a scream as the lash cut into his skin, drawing blood. Again, the whip struck. Tony made the loudest groan he could through this closed lips. It continued._

_"TALK, INFIDEL! WHO IS YOUR COMMANDER?!"_

_Lash after lash after lash...so much blood...and pain. Terrible pain..._

Tony woke up screaming as the pilot told flight attendants to prepare for landing.

"Sir, are you okay?" a brunette attendant asked him.

"What?" Tony struggled to say. "Oh, uh, yeah. Just...um...just a bad dream. I'm fine."

He said that, despite knowing the opposite.


End file.
